We Play in the Tidal River

Floating on a log and riding the wake

The tidal river was flowing high after a week of rain. I walked along the river trail at that magical time when the tide was coming in and the current was flowing out.

The river was flowing upstream with the tide close to shore. A cormorant rode on a log that floated one way then flew over to another snag more in the center of the river that floated the other way. I watched the cormorant for a while and decided she was just having fun. I’ve seen them stand on pilings, and dry their wings in the sun, but I think she was playing this afternoon.

Why not? A flock of ducks, barely visible in the picture, also seemed to enjoy swimming between the river flowing in and out. They had moseyed out to an eddy, where the water was circling between in and out. Later, a professionally outfitted fishing boat passed by, creating a large wake on the water. The ducks — wood ducks, by the way — all turned to face the wake and ride the waves, as if saying, hey, watch, this is a good one.

The clump of trees that appears to be an island is an island when I took the picture. There is a narrow strip of land that connects the island to the shore. In high water, or high tide, or both, the strip of land disappears.

Many metaphors are applicable. We never step into the same river twice. Life flows in and flows out, and sometimes we just spin around.

I don’t know. I don’t feel like reaching for deeper meaning today. I was watching animals play in the waves, in the currents.

At the feeder

The birds are different at this time of year, approaching winter. After a week of rain, I was out and about, and so were they. I have a feeder I can watch from my living room, and it was filled, today, with the smallest birds. I suppose if you are the size of a wren, a raindrop hitting is — relative to body size — a big drop, a big deal.

In addition to the usual finches and towhees, there were warblers and wrens, small songbirds flocking. Ground feeders like the pair of doves, always two doves, waited for the seed to fall. Juncos are ground feeders, too. Finches and nuthatches fight over their turn at the round feeder, while the warblers and wrens wait for a lull and then opportunistically eat some seeds.

Not long ago, a large bird, three or four times the size of a warbler — I think it was a flicker — hung from the feeder and scarfed down sunflower seeds while all the other birds waited. The pecking order is more than a metaphor.

A Steller’s blue jay screeches from a limb, and the other birds scatter. His dark tufted head, bob, and raucous cry sound to me like a rapper. But soon he will have another name, as all birds named for people will be renamed for the bird’s characteristics. So more yellow-bellied sapsuckers and fewer Lincoln’s sparrows.

The doves remind me of an older couple dressed in matching sweatshirts at the all-you-can-eat buffet. A little wide in the middle, just happy to be here.

What I don’t understand is why the busyness of all sorts of birds at the seed feeder also brought out the hummingbirds, who visit the sugar-water feeder. Maybe they just like the company or wanted to be in on the feeding frenzy. For the first time, too, a bright iridescent green hummingbird with a rosy head was there. He lit up my watching.

It is the joy of time, to watch. It is the joy of watching, to see. It is the joy of seeing to perceive — or imagine — what is going on.

I do think today was a day for play. To enjoy the sunshine.

For me, as well.

I enjoy reading Dennett at Weeds and Wildflowers. She takes us on a weekly photographic walk of the wildlife around her neighborhood. I thought of her when I tried to take pictures of birds and realized photographing birds well combines patience, equipment, and technique to get the discovery shots she gets. I also appreciate that one’s daily life can provide the fodder for many stories.